Sunsets

As the orange sun passes over the orange hills, the skyscrapers transform from blue to black. Gradually the shadows lengthen and grow, stretched out to an infinite length, stretched out until they are fully strained and ready to break at any instant. And finally they do. Light struggles and whimpers to its death, like a hoary television turning off. The shadows mock the light as it flees, and then firmly envelop us. One by one tiny lights shine. The yellow warmth coming from homes uncountable and the clinical white of the office towers busily work to restore our faith. Street lamps are tiny dots in the expansive darkness. But why should we grieve for the light? It shall return in the morning, and in the morning the light will be as bright as today. But the night feels so long, so long, so long.